


Shelter

by VicTheSpookyGoat



Series: Alexithymia [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Consensual Sex, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicTheSpookyGoat/pseuds/VicTheSpookyGoat
Summary: “I’m sorry,” she murmured, wiping her eyes roughly with the heel of one hand, shame pooling like bile in the back of her mouth. “You should go…”He shook his head, and brought his hand around to gently caress her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “No, I think perhaps this time I should stay.”
Relationships: Raubahn Aldynn/Warrior of Light
Series: Alexithymia [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737175
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19





	Shelter

The city was dark and the household quiet, the Fortemps and their other guests long since retired to their own quarters. Though she had bathed away the day’s sweat and bundled herself in a thick, woolen dressing gown, Moni knew sleep was still a distant shore.

She frowned at her reflection, gently probing the fading shiner under her left eye, a memento from one of the fortnight’s battles - she couldn’t recall which. Count Edmont had offered the services of a healer when she’d returned to the Manor, fretting as he always did that such bruises were wholly unnecessary, they had some of the best healers in the realm at their disposal and her lovely face needn’t be so marred. She had squirmed out of it, as she always did, insisting that she didn’t mind, that it was a reminder to keep her guard up better next time. She didn’t tell him, she would never tell him, that she just didn’t want to be worried over. He meant well, in that paternal way that seemed to come so naturally to him; she wondered if Artoirel and Emmanellain knew how fortunate they were.

She let the tips of her fingers linger over the purple crescent for a moment, before tracing the line of her cheekbone down to brush the swell of her lower lip as her mind now wandered of its own accord to thoughts of a very different sort.

The last time she had seen _him_ had been in Ul’dah, in his chambers, after finally giving in to the desire which had plagued her for moons prior. Not a day had passed since then that he did not cross her mind, even if only fleetingly, and she wondered, despite herself, if he thought of her the same way, with the same frequency… And then, he had come to Ishgard, to mark the occasion of the reclusive nation’s return to the fold. As she watched him on the stage with the other leaders of the Alliance, she could not shake the feeling of longing that had swelled unbidden and yet now all too familiar in her chest. He had sought her out at the banquet after, speaking softly and formally, but she thought she saw in his eyes the same longing reflected back at her. To see it, to be so close, to want it _so much_ , and yet to be forbidden from acting upon it was a torture she had never thought she would be forced to endure.

The Count de Fortemps, of all people, was to be her unexpected savior. In his generosity, he had opened his home to the Alliance delegation. It was then only a matter of covertly arranging a meeting. She had entrusted the task of delivering the invitation to Honoroit, with a stern warning that none but the Flame General were to be privy to the contents of her missive. The boy had asked no questions, and assured her of both his utmost discretion and a prompt delivery.

But the hour was growing late, and she had all but given up the gambit for shortsighted folly when his heavy, familiar steps echoed through the hall outside, approaching her quarters. His voice rumbled, deep and commanding, as he dismissed the house guard with his request that was not a request for a private audience with Mistress Penni. The sound of it shot a levinbolt down her spine and something unfamiliar fluttered in her chest when his knuckles rapped hard on the door to her rooms.

“Enter,” she called, not moving, willing the eagerness from her voice.

Her fingers tensed against the smooth wood of the dresser as she watched him in the mirror, slipping into the room, locking the door behind him, waiting for the invitation to approach. He had left his armor behind, and she could see clearly the curves of his broad torso and powerful arm as he flexed in anticipation. Gods, how long had it been since they’d been alone like this? Two moons? Three? All she knew for certain was that she wanted him, _needed_ him, right bloody now.

“My lady,” he rumbled, eyes locked on her reflection.

“Flame General,” she replied, finally turning to face him.

“You wished a private audience?” His eyes met hers, and she could see plainly now the desire in his expression.

“Aye…” she nodded, slowly, never taking her eyes off his, willing him to close the gap between them.

Raubahn did not disappoint. With a few sure strides, he crossed the room and slid his hand around her waist, pressing his lips to hers with the force of moons of longing. The sensation sent another levinbolt down her spine and delicious tingles across her skin. She parted her lips, returning the embrace with the strength of her own longing, gripping his shoulders as their breath mingled.

Rather than abating the aching in her core, though, it only stoked the fire further. She needed more of him, all of him, desperately. Her hands found their way down to his belt, tugging at the buckle urgently. It fell to the floor with a dull clatter, and her hands dove lower to grasp the hem of his tunic. She broke away just long enough to whisk it up over his head. Letting it fall somewhere beside them, she ran her hands slowly up his abdomen, then his chest, over smooth skin and old scars, luxuriating in the flex of his muscles beneath her palms. 

Then she raked her fingers down the length of his torso and under the waistband of his small clothes, tugging them away to free his already stiffening member. She wrapped one hand around the base, exploring him with slow, gentle strokes as her other hand slid back up to grasp him by the back of the neck to pull him into another kiss.

Moaning into her mouth, his own hand trailed lower now, down her neck, over her collarbone, lingering for a moment at her breast before continuing downward to tug at the cord of her dressing gown. Then, as if reading her mind, he shifted, spinning her around and pulling the robe from her shoulders, then paused as he realized that was _all_ she had been wearing. She watched, with a rising feeling of satisfaction, as his eyes roved over her reflection, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Do you like what you see, General?” she murmured, arching into him, already feeling the answer.

“Aye…” he grinned, letting his hand roam over her lithe curves, brushing over scars old and new, cupping her breasts, caressing the lines of her stomach as he kissed his way across her shoulders. Then his hand slid lower, between her thighs to where she was now absolutely _aching_ with need. He teased for a moment, slowly sliding his fingers back and forth through her folds, grazing the sensitive mound of her clit just enough to draw a whimpering gasp from her. “You missed me…“

He wasn’t wrong, but still...

“You’re one to talk,” she moaned, rocking her hips back against him punishingly, eliciting a rumbling groan that vibrated through his rib cage and into hers. 

He stopped teasing then, slipping two fingers into her at once and curling his hand just so… Gods, it was as if his hand had been made just for her, the way he found that sweet spot so effortlessly. The fact that she had the advantage of seeing him in the mirror as he worked her into tighter and tighter coils of pleasure, watching their bodies flex in time together, did nothing to temper her excitement. His arm rippled with each thrust of his hand, his lips leaving bruising kisses on her neck and shoulders, his skin a deep bronze against the dark grey of hers, and all the while his eyes remained locked on her reflection.

She came with a muffled cry, biting down hard on her knuckles at the last moment to stifle her own keening as the coils released and crashed over her in waves of white hot ecstasy. He held her, lips pressed to the nape of her neck, as she quivered around and against him, gasping to catch her breath. Slowly, he withdrew, his hand slick with her, sending another shudder through her core.

Her chest still heaving, she leaned her head back against his shoulder, stroking his cheek as she whispered, “I guess I did miss you...”

Raubahn chuckled against her neck, before turning his head to press his lips to her wrist. “And I, you…” 

Then, gently, he nudged her stance wider with his knee, and she felt him between her legs, hot and hard where she was still so sensitive, drawing another breathless moan from her. She caught his eye in the mirror, and nodded, silently pleading.

He needed no further encouragement. Drawing back just enough to slip his hand between them, he guided himself into her, taking his agonizing, tantalizing time to fill her to the brim. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he began to thrust, slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every ilm. She bent forward, bracing herself against the dresser to gain enough leverage to rock her hips back to meet each of his thrusts. He leaned with her, the piercing grey of his eyes bright in the mirror as he held her gaze, his breath hot against her neck as he moaned her name in that beautiful, rich highland accent.

Moni shuddered around him, her vision narrowing and moans becoming increasingly broken as the fire in her core built with each quickening thrust. His hand left her waist, sliding up to knead her breasts, then higher, fingers curling gently around her neck. Her hips bucked of their own will as she neared her edge, and he thrust back harder, his grip tightening reflexively, and suddenly everything was wrong...

She was sixteen again, her knees pressed to the paving stones, her own blood between her thighs, a crushing grip around her neck. Now she was gasping, clawing at the hand for relief, but she couldn’t get a purchase and she couldn’t breath and everything was going black and all she could hear was the sound of the man grunting in her ear… Panicking now, trying to scream, trying to fight, flinging her elbow back, feeling it connect, feeling the grip on her neck loosen. Had to get away, had to escape, now falling, now scrambling...

“Moni?” A voice cut through her haze, deep and gentle and full of concern.

She opened her eyes, tentatively, gradually registering that she was curled on the floor of her chambers, legs drawn close and arms flung over her head protectively. Her whole body was tense and shaking, heart racing, blood pounding in her ears, breath coming in shallow gasps. Daring to lower her arms, she was met with Raubahn’s face, his expression tight with worry.

He was kneeling beside her, not touching her, but close enough that she could see the bright crimson gash that split his lower lip and instinctively she withdrew again, expecting the blows to fall at any moment.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Her voice sounded brittle in her own ears, wavering and desperate. She screwed her eyes shut again, feeling the sting of tears pooling as she curled closer in on herself.

“It’s alright, I know you didn’t…” His voice was low and soothing now, and she felt his fingers gingerly touch her shoulder. 

She flinched, and he withdrew. Then she felt his hand again, flat against her back, warm and sure, an anchor. This time she didn’t flinch, and he began to rub deliberate, gentle circles between her shoulder blades. Slowly, slowly, she relaxed, letting him pull her in to lean against his chest, letting the sureness of his touch coax her back down. The tears she had tried to bite back flowed freely now, cascading down her cheeks and onto his skin as her chest heaved with ragged sobs.

“It’s alright...” he whispered, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, “it’s alright, Moni, you’re safe… just breath...”

She nodded, gasping, and willed herself to take deeper breaths, in time with the motion of his hand. Gradually, she stopped trembling, and her heart ceased its racing. Her cheeks were still soaked with tears when she finally sat up, unable to look at him. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, wiping her eyes roughly with the heel of one hand, shame pooling like bile in the back of her mouth. “You should go…”

He shook his head, and brought his hand around to gently caress her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “No, I think perhaps this time I should stay.”

She turned to stare at him then, caught off guard by his simple, quiet refusal. His brow was knit with care, his eyes soft with something she didn’t fully understand. It stirred something in her that she understood even less, and she could only nod, silently and reluctantly accepting whatever this was that he was offering. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she let him pull her close again, laying her head against his broad chest, surrendering to the comfort of his embrace.

They sat that way for some time, neither speaking, his thumb tracing slow, featherlight caresses across her shoulder. She laid her hand flat against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, letting it tether her to this moment, this place. After a while, he brushed his lips to her forehead, ever so gently, then tilted his head to look down at her, finally breaking the silence.

“Do you wish to speak about it?”

It was a simple question, spoken softly and without demand. At first, she didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever asked her that before. But then she found the words, clawing at her throat to be let out. She nodded, finding her voice, tight and wavering as it was.

“I was young… younger than Alphinaud when it happened. I was still working on the streets… hadn’t earned my place in a pleasure house yet.” She took a breath, steeling herself. “It was a Sea Wolf trader, come to Ul’dah for the summer season. He seemed nice enough, and he kept flashing his coin… I should have known better, but I was still green, I didn’t know what to look out for… I thought I could handle it... But he asked for things I didn’t want to do, and when I refused, he took them instead… he got violent… he tried… tried to…”

The words caught in her throat, and she felt tears welling in her eyes again. The rawness of the emotions she thought long buried stunned her. It had been thirty years, she was the Warrior of fucking Light, she was supposed to be stronger than this… and yet somehow when she tried to speak the memory aloud, she was just that frightened little girl again.

Raubahn said nothing. She expected him to withdraw, to cast her away with all the disgust she felt for herself, but instead she felt his hand curl tighter around her shoulder, steadying, reassuring. He was holding the silence for her, she realized, for as long as she needed it.

She took another deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, then tilted her head back to focus on an imperfection in the ornate moulding of the ceiling, blinking back her tears. She let fear give way to anger as she continued, let it harden the edges of her voice, let it be a shield against the intense, detestable vulnerability that the memory evoked in her.

“I don’t really remember how I escaped, but I was one of the lucky ones. He killed three other street girls that summer. The Blades never caught him. I don’t think they ever tried… they didn’t give a shit about us,” she scoffed bitterly. “I had nightmares about it every night for moons afterward, wouldn’t go near Roegadyn clients for years…”

“And the flashbacks?” Raubahn finally broke his silence, quietly asking the question she knew he deserved to have answered.

“Those came later… the first time it happened, I broke the client’s nose… he beat me so badly I couldn’t work for a moon. Eventually I learned how to keep their hands away from my neck, how to spot the ones that might get violent and keep away, or keep them happy…” Moni swallowed hard, the words leaving a bitter, shameful taste in her mouth. “Haven’t had one in ages…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding her closer now, his voice as tight as his grip, “for making you relive it.”

“Don’t apologize. I don’t need your pity.” She regretted the poison in her voice even as it left her lips, for he pulled back then.

But the venom did not seem to reach him. Rather than withdrawing, he brought his hand around to cradle her chin, gently turning her head so that she was forced to meet his eyes. The look he gave her was calm, speaking volumes that she could not read. “Would you rather my scorn?”

“It would make more sense,” she answered, honestly, but no longer able to look him in the eye, her voice drained of its bite.

He hummed, thoughtfully, brow furrowing even as a strange smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “That is a shame then, for I have neither to give you.”

Her throat tightened, choked with an unfamiliar emotion for which she did not have words. Something within her shifted then, like a wall crumbling under its own weight, and when she looked back up at him, it was no longer as a glimpse stolen from behind a shield of her own making, but clearly, fully. She knew she did not deserve what he was offering to her, but she found herself wanting it, needing it, surrendering to it. 

Hesitantly, she brought her hand to his cheek, tracing her fingers across the line of his jaw, over old scars, forcing herself to hold his gaze, to read the volumes within it with eyes that could finally see, finally understand. Her heart was pounding in her ears again, her hands trembling, but all she could see was him. When she found her voice once more, it was as a whisper, so low she could barely hear it, speaking the only words that she had to express what was in her heart.

“Thank you…”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Shout out as always to @tehjai and @draya for their support and proofreads <3


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